


Don't You Ever Tame Your Demons

by Eastmava



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (Snoke manipulates Kylo not Hux), Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Happy Ending, M/M, further warnings in notes, offscreen voilence/death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 21:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10290932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastmava/pseuds/Eastmava
Summary: “I know. I know because you told me, Ren. When I found you you were half-mad. You begged me to leave you to die. You begged me to leave you because all Snoke’s ever done is lie to you. He tore you away from your family with the promise that you wouldn’t hurt people anymore, that you wouldn’t be lonely. But you’re lonelier than ever, aren’t you, Ren?  And all you do is fight. And he tells you, every time, that this will be the last one. But it never is. It never will be. He doesn’t want to free you, Ren. He wants you leashed to his side.”All Ben Solo wanted was to not hurt people anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story began when a thegoodlannister made a post calling Kylo Ren a witch. I decided I wanted to write something where a young Ben Solo got called a witch by the local children because of the Force. Somehow, that grew into this.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING:  
> This story features Snoke manipulating Kylo/Ben, starting at a very young age. It also features violence and death, but it's pretty much all 'offscreen'. Some of the deaths are of children, although again, not graphically depicted. If you have any further questions about the content please feel free message me on my tumblr http://cut-off-the-grain.tumblr.com
> 
> This work is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Otherwise, please enjoy!

To say it’s his earliest memory isn’t quite right. 

 

He’s young, three, short legs and pudgy belly and unruly curls which tangle. Stretching for a glass which sits on a table far above his head. 

 

“Mumma,” he says, stretching just a little further, as though it will matter. She hums, watches him on the edge of her sight, mutters something to tell him she’s there but keeps her eyes on the vegetables she’s slicing as she prepares supper. 

 

“Mumma,” he says again, voice a little higher, tighter, edging into a toddler’s anger. 

 

The glass shakes, rattles against the table, tilts, and the liquid sloshes out as the glass tumbles to the floor, hitting with a shatter that makes her finally look up. The tears come as soon as it lands but he’s picked up, rocked, a warm hand patting his back as he sobs against a soft shoulder.

 

“Did you do that?” a soft voice asks. And even though it doesn’t sound like he’s in trouble, even though she hasn’t snapped  _ Benjamin Solo _ in a clipped voice he cries harder. 

 

“Oh, my clever boy,” she says, laughing. “Already so strong.” She bounces him, and when he finally settles, when the tears stop, she kisses his cheek and he droops in the tight wrap of her arms, soothed. “Just imagine what you’ll be capable of.”

 

She dances him around the room soaked in sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains until he’s smiling, laughing, his already too-big nose crinkling as she sings him a Shirywook song, carefully avoiding the broken glass glittering on the floor.

 

But it’s not his memory- it’s Leia’s. He remembers it as his own, watches through her eyes as a young Ben Solo tips a glass without touching it, remembers the weight of a small body in his arms, the hot, hitching sobs against his neck, the feeling of dark curls under his fingers.

It must have happened because the memory was there for him to leech from her, to steal, to take. The memory of a mother comforting a crying toddler one he has from her perspective but not from his own. 

 

But he does remember the voice that whispers to him that same night, skittering across his mind like spiders crawling across his skin.  _ Clever boy _ , it tells him, echoing into the silence of his head.  _ So strong with the Force _ , and he pulls the covers tight over his head to block it out, to hide from it, but it worms its way into his thoughts anyway.  _ Imagine what you could be capable of. I could show you.  _

 

He clutches his tooka doll and screams into the darkness, wanting his mother, his father, Uncle Chewie, wanting someone to make the voice to go away.

 

Hurried footsteps and by the time he’s lifted from his bed into Leia’s embrace, Uncle Chewie’s shaggy hand patting his shaking back, the voice is gone. 

 

“Just a nightmare,” Leia says. “It’s not real. It can’t hurt you.”

 

He shakes and sobs until he feels sick, until his belly aches, because he doesn’t have the words to tell them that the voice cut through him like an icy-hot blade, that it filled every empty space in his head until he thought the pressure would make it burst.

 

That it wasn’t a nightmare and it did hurt him. 

 

~

 

When he’s ten they move. They tell him it’s because of Leia that there’s very important work to be done and only she can do it and isn’t that exciting, Ben?

 

But he knows that’s a lie. He’s overheard their whispered arguments when they think he’s sleeping. He’s spent days sad and angry, unsure why, until he realizes it’s not his own emotions he’s feeling but theirs.

 

They worry about him.

 

He makes things happen, bad things, and he doesn’t mean to. Doesn’t know how to stop it. 

 

When Han told him he had to go away for work and was going to miss his life day he cried and the nearby window had shattered, a feathering webwork of cracks radiating from the center of the glass until it fell out of it’s frame. This time Leia didn’t pick him up and praise him. 

 

The leg of his bunk had splintered and cracked when he cried for his mother, desperate for her to banish the voice that haunted him at night.

 

And the voice, the voice was still there, always there. It had been years since Han and Leia had stopped letting him crawl into their bed when the voice came, their presence the only thing which made it stop. Their patience had run dry and after several nights of being scolded and told  _ it was just a nightmare, it can’t hurt you, go to bed  _ he had stopped trying. Learned to curl tight under his covers and hold his tooka doll tight over his ear to try and block the whisper out.

 

But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

 

The voice still comes.

 

And so, even though Leia smiled and told him they were leaving so she could do good and help people he knew they were really moving because Han and Leia were tired and they clung to the hope that being around other children would ground him.

 

He’s too big for anyone other than Uncle Chewie to pick up now so he can’t be carried but he clings tight to Leia’s legs, wraps his clumsy hands in the skirts of her dress and hides behind her whenever she tries to coax him into talking.

 

“These are our new neighbors, Ben. Stop being so shy and say hello.” He wonders why she insists on dragging him around to meet people when she sounds so tired.

 

For the first time, staring at the unfamiliar walls of his new home, when he lays in bed, heart pounding in anticipation, there’s only silence echoing in his head. 

 

Leia starts smiling more, sings to him again, her soft voice entwining with his own shaky one and the low timbre of Uncle Chewie’s growls as they echo music through the house. Han arcs model ships through the air to him with a gentle toss and marvels when they float, and Ben smiles at his laugh as he makes them zoom around the air with only a thought. 

 

He stills follows after his parents whenever possible but no longer shrieks and wails when they put him to bed at night, content to curl up in quiet dark, the only thoughts in his head his own or the occasional bright burst of Leia’s warm mind brushing against his own like a mother cat nuzzling her brood.

 

This is when he learns that things can be too good to last.

 

Han pushes him out the door with a firm “Go play,” one sun-dappled afternoon. He’s explored the area around their home, but always with Han or Leia, his hand holding tight to theirs. He wanders, poking at moss-covered rocks and many-legged, skittering critters, constantly checking that he hasn’t wandered out of sight of their home.

 

It’s voices, small and high like his, that finally lure him away. 

 

There’s a group of children, all seeming around his age, playing together. He’s seen them before, watching them walk past his windows while he gazes out but he’s never spoken to them.

 

They all stop talking when he approaches and he realizes suddenly he doesn’t know how to talk to anyone who isn’t his parents or an uncle. He stops and stares at them, smiles shyly. 

 

One of the girls, a twi’lek with a pale blue cast to her skin, cocks her head at him, a lekku twitching in the air. “What’s your name?” She asks.

 

“Benjamin,” he tells her shyly, tracing a pattern in the dirt with the toe of his shoe so he has an excuse not to look at her. 

 

“You’re Princess Leia’s son!” A boy shouts, his dark curls bouncing around his head as he rocks on his tiptoes.

 

A girl breaks away from the group, walks right up him, standing up straight so she’s inches taller than him and he has to tilt his head back to see her. “You don’t look like a prince,” she complains with a whine in her voice. She flicks his nose and he winces, steps back, suddenly unsure. “Princes are supposed to be handsome.”

 

“My mom says you’re a witch!” A voice calls from above and he looks up, up to see a boy swinging his legs on a tree branch.

 

He’s shaking, knees wobbly and the hot sting of tears burning right behind his eyes. He doesn’t quite know what handsome means, he’s heard Leia call Han it, usually right before she kisses him, but the girl seems focused on his nose and he knows his is big, sticks out farther than anyone else’s seems to.

 

But witch, he’s never heard the word before. But the way the boys said it, like a bad word, the same way his mother spits the word ‘ _ scoundrel _ ’ at Han when they argue, he knows it must be bad. 

 

“I’m not!” he says, and his voice quivers with the tears he’s trying to hold back. “I’m not a witch!”

 

The boy laughs, loud and ringing in the open air. Cruel. “Witch!” He shouts again, pointing a finger. 

 

“I’m not!” he says again, the rejection burning hot in him, and the tears spill over, a hot flood that coats his face.

 

He thinks the noise is his own sobs at first, the croak of his throat as he tries to catch his breath and stop his tears, but it grows louder, drowns out his hitching sobs and when he looks wildly around for the groaning creak he feels the Force pulse out of him and the branch the boy is sitting on, strong and steady, breaks away from the trunk of the tree, and the boys screams as he falls, thunking to the earth with a sickening thud and a snap of bone as the boy screams.

 

Ben runs.

 

He runs back to the house, barely able to see for the haze of tears, pounds on the closed door and wails until it opens. Hurls himself through it and clutches at his mother’s legs, presses his face into her belly as he cries and babbles. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t want to do it, it just happened, I couldn’t stop it!”  

 

Han walks in the room and Leia sighs, bends down to pat Ben’s back. “I need Luke,” she tells him, “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

 

Ben cries harder.

 

When he goes to bed his head hurts and his throat feels swollen and he’s still snuffling, leaving sticky smears of snot and tears on his blankets.

 

_ Little one, _ the voice creeps into his head.  _ So strong, but you lack control. See what you did. _

 

For the first time he doesn’t fight it. Closes his eyes and whispers into emptiness. “I didn’t mean to.”

 

_ You lack control. The boy didn’t matter but who will it be next time? The mother you cling to who wishes you away? The father who is never home? _

 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he tells it. 

 

_ If you don’t learn to control it that’s all you’ll ever do. _

 

“How do I learn?” He asks, voice quavering. The voice chuckles in his head and it hurts, burns, a white-hot pain lancing right behind his eyes but he doesn’t fight it. 

 

Afterall, he probably deserves it.

 

~

 

Things are easier with Luke. At least at first.

 

He’s lonely, but maybe he’s always been lonely and it’s only now, with nothing to distract him, that he has a name for the hollow feeling in his chest, for the longing ache that settled on his breastbone when he hugged Leia goodbye.

 

When he tells Luke he misses them Luke smiles sadly and tells him loneliness leads to embracing the Dark, that he must shed himself of such attachments.

 

His mind feels empty, like there’s a space carved out for something which is missing, a gap on a bookshelf where something is clearly supposed to fit, a puzzle all but completed save a lost piece. Maybe the space has always been there and he simply filled it with others- the sun-burst warm of Leia’s mental to-do list, the gruff, spice-scented workings of Han’s always plotting mind, the thrumming affection Chewie pulses to him, as soothing as being held tight to his shaggy chest as he growls.

 

Luke shield his thoughts well, throws up a mental block that leaves him horribly alone in his own head.

 

Except, except, at night, with Luke asleep on his thin bedroll, when the voice ( _ Snoke,  _ it tells him.  _ I have many titles, many names, but we’re friends, aren’t we, young Ben? And my friends should call me Snoke.)  _ comes. He climbs out of bed, sneaks out of the crumbling Jedi temple they sleep under into chilly night air and listens as Snoke teaches him. 

 

_ Your uncle shows you one way, but there’s another path for you, young one.  _

 

He draws on the emotions that sit unsettled in his chest, anger and fear and loneliness and sadness, the feelings Luke tells him he must learn to live around, and pulls them close and feels the Force build in him, surge in his veins and settle in between his very cells.

 

The years pass slowly with only the two of them, very little distinguishing one day from the next as communication with the rest of his family trickles to nothingness. He thinks he grows stronger, better, but Luke never tells him if he’s pleased, never praises him, only recites the same stale teachings and has him run the same exercises day after day.

 

But Snoke, his friend, praises him. Call him clever and strong, tells him how pleased he is with Ben’s progress.

 

One night he sits shivering on a hard rock, a constant, drizzling rain soaking through his meagre robes, aching with bruises, skin purpled and muscles sore from a day of bokken practice. 

 

_ Focus on that, on your pain. Don’t let it be a weakness, let it strengthen you. _

 

It hurts, hurts worse, when he presses his fingers into the bruises, scratches at the scrapes on his palms until they trickle with blood again. It hurts, but disappointing the one person who has always been there for him would hurt worse.

 

He feels the Force flow through him, stronger than ever. 

 

~

 

Ben tries to be excited when Luke tells him he’s going to start training other children. Tries to ignore the sound of a cracking branch that echoes in his mind, a constant punishment for what he’s done. Tries to hope that maybe he’ll be able to make friends with the other children (and that worked so well last time, didn’t it? Where will they send him away to this time?)

 

Tries to ignore the aching hollow in his chest that tells him he’s a failure, a disappointment. If he could just do what Luke wanted (just be what everyone wanted), if he were just better, maybe he’d be enough. 

 

Luke is kind to them in a way he never is with Ben, corrects their mistakes with gentle hands and soft, calm words. When they cry, when an unexpected surge of emotion wracks through them and it trembles out through the Force Luke gentles them, rubs a soothing hand on their back. And there’s something different in the way Luke looks at them. Pleased, content.  _ Proud. _ When he looks at Ben there’s always a twist to his features, a darkness that flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t know what to call it, didn’t even know it was there until he saw the lack of it when Luke looked at the others.

 

It all ends (it all begins) on an ordinary day as he’s practicing, running through katas with another boy. He’s older than Ben, although the baby fat which clings to his belly and rounds out his cheeks makes him look younger, and his his connection to the Force is tenuous at best, shaky and unreliable. Ben should be stronger. Is stronger. 

 

Yet somehow the boy bests him. He stumbles, trips, and falls to the ground, the boy leaning over him, grinning, panting. Luke is calling out congratulations and he feels his blood curdle with rage, feels the Force gather around him, staticky and clinging to him as his anger wells until it flows out of him, a great rush of release that sets his heart pounding. 

 

Like a flash of lightning before the following crack of thunder he sees the boy thrown back by an invisible hand, watches the the wooden bokken splinter and shatter, a sharpened piece cutting deep into the boy’s cheek. The blood rushes out and he suddenly knows what’s on Luke’s face everytime he turns to Ben, sees it reflected on the boy.

 

_ Fear. _

 

Suddenly sounds slams back into him and he hears crying, scrambling from the others to get to the injured boy while staying as far from Ben as possible. And Luke, looking at him with what Ben sickeningly now knows is fear, trying to calm him from his rage.

 

“I didn’t mean to,” he tries to say, but his throat is clogged with emotion and the words come out tight. And something echoes in his head  _ liar, liar, liar  _ as he says the words. “I never asked for this.” Again, louder. “I never asked for this.” He climbs to his feet and everyone, even Luke (of course even Luke) flinches back, bracing for whatever happens next. “I don’t want this!” He screams, and then he’s running, his feet pounding the ground in rhythm with his sobs, heading to the woods that encircles their little camp.

 

He runs, ignores the snap of branches on his face and the pluck of bushes scratching at his arms and legs. Runs with burning lungs and aching legs until he collapses against the trunk of a great tree, still sobbing. He sits on the ground and pulls his knees up, presses his sobbing face to his knees.

 

_ Young one,  _ Snoke calls to him.  _ So sad, and the Force pulled so close around you. What happened? _

 

He sobs again. “I, I hurt someone. I didn’t mean to!”

 

_ Until you learn control you will always hurt those around you. Again and again.  _

 

He cries harder, even though his head hurts, even though his teeth ache from grinding together in an attempt to control himself. He cries, because he knows Snoke is right. “Wha, what do I do? How do I stop?” He chokes on the words.

 

_ You need a teacher. Your uncle has tried, but yours is not the path of the Jedi. _

 

He swallows, presses his face harder into his knees. “Would you, would you teach me?” 

 

For long moments there’s silence, emptiness, in his head, only the rattling shake of his sobs. And then, finally, with a flood of relief coursing through him-

 

_ Yes. If you’re serious. You must come to me. But first, Ben, there is one thing you must do. _

 

He sobs harder when Snoke lays his task before him, shakes with fear and sadness and anger. Wants to argue, to beg, but no, he can’t, not the first thing Snoke asks of him, no matter how much it may hurt.

 

He knows it must be for the best.

 

Snoke wouldn’t ask otherwise.

 

He waits until it’s dark. When he creeps out of the forest everyone is asleep. No one came looking for him. He pads as softly as he can to Luke’s cot, crouches at the foot to rummage through his things. 

 

There.

 

Luke has shown them the Lightsaber before, has wielded the blade with an enchanting grace. He’s thrilled the children over dinner with his tales of traveling to mine the crystal for it, the work he put into constructing it. Ben has watched the other children quiver with excitement when Luke promises them all that one day they too will get to build their own.

 

Ben’s never wanted one.

 

A small voice, calling for him, almost makes him drop it but he manages to fumble it back into his grip.

 

“Ben?” It’s a young Anx girl, blinking her reptilian eyes sleepily at him. “What are you doing?” He walks to her, crouches down. 

 

“Tam,” he whispers. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

 

She nods, burrows back down under her covers. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she mumbles sleepily.

 

He waits until she’s breathing evenly again, fast asleep. “I can’t,” he whispers fiercely. “Please, I can’t. She’s so young. They all are. They don’t deserve this. I just want to leave. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

 

_ Ben _ Snoke’s voice booms in his mind with a volume that makes him wince.  _ I wouldn’t ask you if there was another way. This must be done. Otherwise they will come looking for you. Do this, and I will teach you. You won’t have to hurt anyone again. _

 

He hefts the saber and it hums to life, a buzzing that he feels all the way up his arm. It’s quiet, quiet enough not to wake anyone, or maybe his sobbing is just louder.

 

When he climbs aboard the tired transport ship, the same one Luke ferried him here in five years ago, he leaves the lightsaber behind, lying in dew soaked grass, blood sticky on the handle, as the sun slowly crests on the horizon.

 

He’s never wanted one anyway. They’re too easy to hurt people with.

 

~ 

 

There’s a group of people waiting to greet him when he walks off the ramp of his ship into the perpetually chilly air of the Star Destroyer that will be his new home. He steps up to the oldest looking officer, a man with strands of silver staining the mousy brown hair at his temples and feathering creases at the corner of his eyes.

 

“General Hux,” he says.

 

The man opens his mouth to responds, but a clear voice cuts through the hangar as a tall young man with an impeccably pressed uniform and a rod-stiff spine to match steps forward. “Yes, Lord Ren, an honor to have you aboard.” He holds out a hand. “General Hux. I look forward to working with you to strengthen the First Order.”

 

He studies the man. He looks far too young to be a general, but then, beneath his new mask that still chafes, rubs raw the bridge of his nose, still overgrown, and the set of his brow, he has an idea what he looks like too, a face far too young with eyes far too sweet to be the infamous Jedi Killer, the leader of the Knights of Ren, the monster mothers across the galaxy threaten their children with for misbehaving. 

 

After a moment too long Hux arches an eyebrow, insolent, and he feels himself flush beneath the mask when he finally reaches out to take Hux’s hand. It’s slim, finely boned beneath the leather, but strong and sure against his own. 

 

He almost shivers when their hands touch. Tells himself he’ll have to add more layers to his robes to ward off the cold of space.

 

Hux nods when they drop their hands. “Unfortunately, Lord Ren, I had hoped to show you around the ship myself, but some issues concerning Starkiller base have arose. I’ve assigned an officer to show you to your quarters. I hope you might join me for dinner so we can discuss matters further.”

 

He nods, again after a beat too long. “Of course,” he agrees.

 

“Excellent.” Hux inclines his head in a goodbye, the bright light in the hangar bay catching a twinkle in his eye, a vibrant green Kylo can’t shake the sense he’s seen before. 

 

He lets the eager to please officers guide him around the ship, his newly crafted saber an unaccustomed weight at his hip that keeps bouncing against his side. He catches a glimpse of the young general on the bridge, the weight of his command one he clearly wears well. Hux’s mind is a shining star in the fabric of the Force, deceptively calm at first, but like water whos smooth surface hides a dangerous current below when he presses, just a touch harder, he feels the constant churn of his thoughts, the problems Hux’s mind chews on while he runs his ship with a firm hand.

 

When he joins Hux for dinner he catches the jolt of surprise when he removes his mask, the undercurrent of something else he can’t quite name, but Hux’s expression never flickers. He’s pleased to find that Hux’s quick mind translates into lively and intelligent dinner conversation.

 

When he stands to leave Hux follows him to the door, and there, again, is a flash of some emotion from Hux as he pulls his helmet back on. 

 

“I hope you’ll join me again tomorrow, Lord Ren.” Hux’s lips curve ever so slightly when he agrees.

 

He walks the meandering halls of the ship back to his quarters, thinking of bright green eyes and the void that sits in his chest, behind his heart, the one that's been there for so long he doesn’t know what it’s not to feel it. Loneliness.

 

But now, with the sound of Hux’s laugh still in his mind and an invitation for dinner tomorrow, he feels it ease.

 

Their paths don’t actually cross much during the day, Hux consumed with overseeing both the running of the Finalizer and the construction of his great weapon and Kylo with his training, but they meet for dinner almost nightly. Hux’s intelligent eyes dancing when Kylo says something to make him laugh and Kylo wonders if, for the first time in his life, he has a friend.

 

At night he lies in bed with memories of Hux’s oddly familiar eyes and the curve of his pink lips and the shivery feeling he gets when their hands brush. He feels himself harden in his pants when he thinks about Hux’s lips, the lean line of his body and the hard set of his jaw. His breath quickens when he thinks about kissing Hux, burying his hands in that vibrant red hair, pressing their bodies deliciously close together. 

 

They could be amazing together. Together, there’s nothing that could stand in their way. They’d be unstoppable, he’s sure of it.

 

He dreams that night.

 

He doesn’t often, usually too exhausted by his day of training. But that night, he dreams. 

 

But no, it’s not quite a dream. Not quite a memory. The truth lies somewhere in between the two.

 

He remembers the feel of Luke’s saber in his hands, the kick of nausea when he stood over Tam and waited for her to fall back asleep. The only kindness he could give her. The saber buzzes to life in his palm and he goes to swing it but her eyes open before he completes the cut, a striking green, and he tries to stop, he’s changed his mind, but the arc of the blade is already swinging downward, he can’t stop it, and when he looks at her, one last time, it’s not the body of a young Anx girl but it’s Hux staring back at him, Hux with the same green eyes as Tam, and he’s sorry, he’s sorry, he doesn’t want to, he didn’t mean to, he can’t control it, he never wanted to hurt anybody-

 

He lurches to his refresher and retches until his stomach is empty.

 

When he’s sure there’s nothing more to heave up he walks on unsteady legs to his bed and sends Hux a message on his datapad telling him he’s too busy to have dinner with him.

 

He can’t tell Hux that he’s doing him a favor. That the only way Kylo has to protect him is to push him away.    

 

~

 

There’s a sickening jolt of adrenaline that sets his pulse racing and his legs twitching when he wakes up before he realizes he’s in medbay. There’s someone sitting by his bed, a stranger he doesn't recognize slumped in a chair, slouched, face hidden in their hands and shoulders sagging.

 

When he hisses in a breath the stranger straightens and he realizes they’re not a stranger. Their back stiffens into a familiar straight line, shoulders pulling back, and when he blinks the haziness from his eye he knows that shock of red hair, has dreamt of his fingers in that red hair, even as it hangs loose, the pale skin and sharp jaw.

 

“Ren,” Hux greets him, voice rough. Hux doesn’t say anything else for long minutes, studies him with eyes that are as sharp and calculating as always, despite the rest of his haphazard appearance. He tries to meet Hux’s gaze but he’s so tired, his eye, the one not sealed closed by bandages, starts to flutter shut, fights to open it, closes again.

 

“My orders are to deliver you to Supreme Leader to complete you training.” He says nothing, doesn’t nod, doesn’t fight, doesn’t rage or cry or scream. Just closes his eyes.

 

He’s so tired, has been tired for so long.

 

When he wakes again Hux is still there. He has no concept of time, it could have been minutes, hours, days. Hux could’ve left and returned, could’ve stayed, stood sentry at his bedside, posture ruler straight as he watched of Kylo.

 

“What did he promise you?” Hux asks. He shakes his head, he doesn’t understand, still foggy with sleep and bacta. “Ren,” Hux delivers his name like an order. “I need you to listen. What did Snoke promise you? Offer you? What does he hold over you?”

 

He shakes his head again, temples throbbing to the rhythm of his pulse. Hux is undeterred.

 

“He promised you that you wouldn’t have to hurt anyone again, didn't he? That’s all you ever wanted, isn’t it? Not to hurt people. And he offered you that, but he lied to you. You know he lied to you.”

 

“No,” he gasps, denies. 

 

“Yes,” Hux hisses, leaning close. “I know. I know because you told me, Ren. When I found you you were half-mad. You begged me to leave you to die. You begged me to leave you because all Snoke’s ever done is lie to you. He tore you away from your family with the promise that you wouldn’t hurt people anymore, that you wouldn’t be lonely. But you’re lonelier than ever, aren’t you, Ren?  And all you do is fight. And he tells you, every time, that this will be the last one. But it never is. It never will be. He doesn’t want to free you, Ren. He wants you leashed to his side.”

 

“No,” he sobs, and tears slice their way down his cheek. “Please, please, stop. You don’t understand. He’s all I have!” His voice cracks and he dissolves into great hiccuping sobs, shaking so violently his side aches.

 

At first he doesn’t register the touch, a brush of fingers along the inside of his wrist. It’s warm, and that tickles something in his mind until he calms just enough to realize Hux isn’t wearing his gloves. That seems important.

 

He’s still crying, hitching little breaths that shake his shoulders, face twisted and his uncovered eye puffy, when Hux speaks again. “Yes, he’s all you have. He’s made sure of that. Made sure you have no one. I know that’s why you left. You can’t lie to me about that anymore. But Ren,what if there was another way?”

 

“There isn’t. There’s nothing else for me.”

 

“What if there was?” Hux asks, fiercely. “If I promised you that you’d never have to hurt someone again, that I could stop this suffering, would you stand with me?” Hux curls his hand around his wrist and he shudders. When was he last touched without violence? Has he ever, or do all those soft memories belong to Ben? “Would you help me bring down Snoke?”

 

“I can’t,” he gasps. “There’s nothing else for me. This is how it has to be.”

 

“There is,” Hux insists. “I’m offering you a better way. I haven’t given the order to set course for Snoke’s citadel. Tell me that’s what you want and I will go do so right now.” Hux loosens his grasp on Kylo’s wrist and slides his hand down until he can interlock their fingers, gives their hands a small shake. “Or stand with me. Snoke only holds us back. With him gone we can have the galaxy.” Quieter, softer. “With him gone, we could be happy.”

 

“And after?” He asks, looking at their interlaced fingers. “When you don’t need me anymore and cast me aside and I’m alone again? Like they’ve all done before?”

 

Hux flexes his fingers. “You’re alone now, Ren. He has made sure of that. But stand at my side,  _ stay  _ by my side. We can be magnificent, Ren, together.” Hux leans across his prone form and lays his other hand on Kylo’s uninjured cheek, turns him. “Ren, Kylo, say yes.”

 

He closes his eyes, nods, once, shakily.

 

Hux kisses him then, with a tenderness he’s certain he’s never know. Whatever else may happen at least he’ll have had this.

 

~

 

“You dare to turn against me?” Snoke is sitting on his throne, waiting, when Kylo finally fights open the great doors.

 

He’s smaller than Kylo, his voice so much more terrible in person. He waits calmly as Kylo walks to him, watches with uninterested eyes as he draws his saber. 

 

“And what of General Hux?” Snoke’s voice echoes in the high chamber even as the words tear a brutal path through his mind, the pain stopping him, making him fall to trembling knees. He hears the thunk of his saber hitting a wall as Snoke casts it aside with a flick of his wrist. “When he has the galaxy, when he’s used you to gain what he wants? What then?”

 

He sobs. In pain, in denial. Shakes his head and gasps when he feels the air being pulled from his lungs, choking on nothing.

 

“Come to your senses, boy,” Snoke roars and his vision starts to flicker, darkening at the edges. “I’m the only one who’s ever cared for you.”

 

He feels consciousness slipping away, reaches out with the last of his draining strength, and there, not far away, is the familiar touch of Hux’s mind.  _ Be strong,  _ it calls to him.  _ I’m coming. _

 

He fights the encroaching black in his vision and draws on the Force, not reaching for the pain in his lungs as Snoke taught, not seeking to blank his mind as Luke taught. No, he sends out weakening tendrils to the warm touch of Hux’s mind and remembers Hux’s promise, whispered to him in the quiet of night, that he is stronger than Snoke. 

 

Snoke’s hold on him is gone, his saber in his hand and he surges to his feet. On Snoke’s gnarled face is an expression he knows, too well. Fear. 

 

He casts a strong net with the Force, holds Snoke tight to his throne as his saber comes to life. Holds it high, ready to bring it down. 

 

A bolt from a blaster strikes Snoke before he can.

 

“Kylo,” Hux calls, stepping through the door, his face smeared with gore and dirt, the black of his uniform stiff and darkened with what can only be dried blood. Hux walks forward on steady legs until he stands at Kylo’s side, blaster still trained on Snoke “Are you hurt?”

 

He shakes his head. “No. No, I’m, I’m-” he feels suddenly delirious. Snoke shifts and he realizes he’s loosening his hold on the Force, wrests it back under his control. Hux’s hand is on his shoulder.

 

“Do you need to watch him to hold him?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you need to watch him to hold him?” Hux asks again, calm. He shakes his head, unable to find words. “Good.” Hux wraps his free hand around around Kylo’s still tight on the hilt, until his fingers loosen and the saber drops, deactivated. “I promised you, Kylo. Never again.” Hux guides him close, tucks Kylo against his side and pulls his head down with gentle fingers that scratch through his hair until all he can see is the bright copper of Hux’s hair and the slope of his shoulder, can smell only wool and sweat clinging to the curve of Hux’s neck. 

 

He feels the jolt of the blaster shake through Hux’s body, feels the pain the bolt cuts through Snoke ripple out through the Force.

 

“I thought I’d ask you to beg, but this is better,” Hux says. Another shot. “I want you to suffer in silence as he suffered at your hand. I want you to hurt and remember that he hurt because you ordered him to. I want you to know that I have no mercy for you, because any goodness left in me belongs to him.”   

 

A final bolt from the blaster, and he feels Snoke’s lifeforce, a steadily leaking trickle, suddenly released with a violent rush, the air vibrating with the power of it. His knees shake, weakened by the hole torn in the Force so close to him, and Hux’s hand slides to curl around his waist, a steadying warmth.

 

Hux drops the blaster with a clatter. “Can you walk?” He asks, but even as he says it he bends low, catches an arm under buckling legs and sweeps Kylo up into his sturdy arms. “Don’t look,” he commands softly, and Kylo closes his eyes and lets his head rest against Hux’s shoulder, let’s the cadence of Hux’s steady stride calm him as he’s carried through Snoke’s chambers, through twisting hallways, and finally out into the sunlight, a dappled warmth that flits across his face.

 

“Don’t look,” Hux says again as he walks them across the field. “It’s over, we won. You don’t need to see.” He can sense it, the scars in the Force from recent loss of life, from the fiercely won battle those loyal to Hux fought against Snoke’s forces. He cracks his eyes, just a little, just enough that he can see those still standing are falling to their knees, kneeling before Hux as he strides past with Kylo in his arms. Hux pays them no mind. 

 

He hears the clang of boots on metal as Hux starts walking up the ramp to their transport ship. He finally blinks open his eyes. 

 

“The galaxy is ours now,” Hux tells him, a smile on his face that causes some dried blood to fleck off. “You’re free, and the galaxy is ours. Ours to rule, if we wish. Or ours to disappear into.”

 

Hux sets him down at the top of the ramp but stays close, a hand tangled in Kylo’s dark curls. The sun catches on Hux’s hair, lims it in gold for a brief moment.

 

“Gold,” he says, inspired, suddenly, desperately sure of what he wants, flits a hand up to touch the hair out of Hux’s eyes. “You should wear a crown of gold.”

 

Hux grins, leans close, so very close, their lips almost touching. “Yes,” Hux agrees. “Gold. To match our wedding bands.”

 

His surprised gasp gets lost in the kiss.

 

~End  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far with me!
> 
> EDIT- The wonderful and amazingly talented frapandfurious wrote a stunning follow up! Be sure to go give it a read and let her know how wonderful it is! You can find it linked below!
> 
>  
> 
> If you enjoyed the work please consider leaving a comment or a kudos to let me know.
> 
> Feel free to stop by my tumblr and say hi!
> 
> http://cut-off-the-grain.tumblr.com

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Place You Need to Reach](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10320878) by [frapandfurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frapandfurious/pseuds/frapandfurious)




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